「 ✦ MERMAID AND MAX ✦ 」

────
* this chapter is a little shorter but seeing as I normally write 10,000 words, I think this will be OK to upload.

THE SUN WAS ALREADY CREEPING above the horizon when the familiar sound of the boat engine hummed in the distance. The crisp, cool morning air hung around them as the sky shifted from deep navy to a soft pink hue. The boat that had been their base of operations for the past few hours came into view, cutting through the still water with ease. JJ, Pope, and John B were back.

Sutton, groggy from a night full of odd charades and high nonsense, stirred from her seat on the boat's deck. She had fallen asleep under a thin blanket, the salty breeze keeping her warm enough. She rubbed her eyes, still dazed, and stretched her arms above her head, groaning as her body protested the movement. The effects of the weed were still hanging on, making everything feel hazy, almost dreamlike.

"Morning," she muttered, voice raspy as she squinted at the approaching boat.

Kiara was already up and standing, brushing the sand off her legs, while Sarah let out a quiet groan and rolled over, her face buried in the pillow she had snatched during their impromptu sleepover.

JJ was the first to jump off the boat as it slowed down, a wide grin plastered on his face. "Well, well, well," he said, dramatically scanning the group. "Look at you three, looking like you partied too hard last night."

Pope followed closely behind, looking a little less enthusiastic but still smiling, and John B was right behind him, his eyes scanning the boat as if making sure everything was in order. Sutton stood up, feeling the slight wobble in her legs as she tried to regain her balance.

"Hey, are you guys like... okay?" Pope asked, eyeing the girls with a mix of concern and curiosity.

Sutton blinked, still in a bit of a fog. "We're... fine. Just... a little off balance from, you know..." She gave a small wave with her hand. "...all the universe sandwiches and... whatever else we did."

JJ shot her a knowing look. "I think you guys need some serious hydration."

"Mmhm," Kiara agreed, rubbing her eyes. "Maybe some coffee too..."

John B caught Sutton's eye as he made his way toward the boat's ladder. His gaze softened for a moment, like he was about to say something but stopped himself. Sutton gave him a tired smile but didn't say anything back. It was like the night before had been so surreal that it was hard to come down from that high just yet.

As Sutton turned to make her way to the edge of the boat, her phone buzzed in her pocket. Frowning slightly, she pulled it out, already guessing who it could be. The text from Wes was short but firm.

Wes:
Call me.

JJ, noticing her distracted look, raised an eyebrow. "Everything okay?"

Sutton didn't respond right away, still staring at the message. She thought about pretending everything was fine, just shrugging it off, but her instincts told her this was something she couldn't ignore.

"I gotta take this," she said, her voice softer than she intended.

"Sure," JJ replied, though his tone hinted at concern. "You alright?"

Sutton gave him a small, forced smile, but there was an underlying weight to it. "Yeah. Just... dealing with some stuff." She turned and stepped away from the group, her heart thudding in her chest.

Sutton sat at the edge of the boat, the sun dipping below the horizon as the quiet of the evening settled in. The buzzing high from earlier had mostly worn off, leaving her with a lingering sense of unease as she checked her phone. Wes's name flashed on the screen, and a knot twisted in her stomach. She didn't even know why she was nervous. It wasn't like they were friends, not exactly. But every time he reached out, there was this tension that wrapped around her chest, like she was a step away from falling into something dangerous and inevitable.

She pressed the green button, bringing the phone to her ear.

"Sutton," Wes's voice came through, smooth and low, carrying that edge she could never quite place. "I've got news for you."

"Yeah?" Sutton's voice was cautious, her eyes flicking over to the others as they prepped to leave. No one was paying attention to her, which was exactly how she liked it. She needed to think, but Wes always made her feel like her thoughts were out of her control.

"I found them," he said, his words deliberate, each one landing with an intent that sent a shiver down her spine. "Zach. Rafe."

Her stomach dropped at the mention of their names. Zach was her brother, the one person she thought she could count on, and Rafe... well, Rafe was a whole mess of things she hadn't fully untangled. His name alone sent a flash of irritation through her. But hearing Wes's voice—calm, too calm—made her feel uneasy in a way she wasn't used to.

"What do you mean, you found them?" Sutton asked, her tone sharp, trying to cut through the fog in her mind.

"Let's just say they're in a place they shouldn't be," Wes responded, a slight laugh in his voice. "But it's not the where that's the problem, Sutton. It's the why."

His voice had that same cool, detached edge she'd heard from Rio in Good Girls—dangerous, in control, like everything was just a game to him. Like he was playing pieces on a board and knew exactly how to make things fall into place. Sutton's skin prickled, her instincts telling her she was standing too close to something much bigger than she realized.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn't want to ask, but it came out anyway. Part of her was drawn to him, the way he always seemed so... confident. So damn sure of himself. It was intoxicating.

"I want you to stop pretending like you don't know how this works," Wes said, the amusement clear in his voice. "You want control, right? You want to fix things with your brother. With Rafe. I can help you with that."

Her heart stuttered. This was no longer just about her family. She could feel it—the lure of whatever deal he was offering. It was too smooth, too easy.

"You're like Rio," she blurted out, before she could stop herself. The comparison was too obvious to ignore. Rio had that same quiet danger, that almost charming ability to make you feel like you needed him. And right now, Wes was no different. "From Good girls."

There was a beat of silence on the other end, and then he chuckled softly, a low, dark sound. "I don't mind that comparison, Sutton. But I'm more interested in what you want." His voice was a little more intimate now, as if they were sharing a secret that no one else could hear.

Sutton swallowed, the tension in her chest tightening. She wasn't sure what she was agreeing to, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was already too far in. Wes had a way of making you feel like you were in control, when really, he had already figured out how to play you.

"Just... do whatever you need to do," she muttered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the boat's engine rumbling in the background. "Just fix it."

"I'll fix it, Sutton," Wes said smoothly, almost soothingly. "I'm not like the others. I take care of things. And I take care of you, too."

There was that same confidence in his words, that same knowing. And for some reason, it made her feel both safe and terrified at the same time. He wasn't offering her a way out—he was offering her a way in.

"I'll be in touch," Wes said, his voice low and final, like the conversation had already ended in his mind.

Sutton hung up before she could say anything else, her mind racing. She stared at the screen of her phone, not sure if she had just made a terrible decision or if this was the exact kind of dangerous pull she had been looking for. All she knew was that Wes had a way of making things happen, and now, whether she liked it or not, she was part of his plan.

As she put the phone down and turned back to the group, the cool evening air on her face did nothing to calm the chaos brewing inside her. She had no idea what she was about to walk into, but she knew one thing for sure: Wes wasn't like anyone else. And that made him the most dangerous thing of all.

────

Sutton sat on the edge of the boat, her legs dangling just above the water as the rising sun glimmered across the surface. The early morning mist hadn't burned off yet, and the others were still half-asleep inside the cabin, scattered across pillows and life jackets like shipwreck survivors.

Her phone buzzed in her hand — again.

Wes
Call me. I found them.

The moment she hit dial, Wes picked up with that maddeningly calm voice that always made her feel like he knew something she didn't.

"Morning, angel," he said, like it was any normal day.

"You said you found them?" she asked, trying to keep her voice low so the others wouldn't hear.

"Mmhm. Your boy and your brother," Wes replied. "At some sketchy-ass house in The Cut. Place reeked of cat piss, weed, and desperation."

Sutton's stomach sank. "What were they doing?"

There was a long pause before Wes answered, casual as ever. "Snorting coke with some loser dealer named Denny. You know the type—always barefoot, always sweaty."

Sutton closed her eyes, her hand gripping the edge of the boat. "Are you serious right now?"

"I don't lie, Sutton. You know that." His voice dropped, the way it did when he was trying to be gentle. "Rafe looked like shit. Zach, too. Like they hadn't slept. I made sure they got out of there without doing something dumber. But you might wanna have a talk with your man before he spirals."

Sutton swallowed hard, throat dry. "Thanks, Wes."

He was quiet for a beat. "You okay?"

"No," she said, voice cracking a little. "But I will be."

"Mm. You know I got you," Wes murmured. "Always. Just say the word."

She hung up before she could say something she'd regret.

A moment later, the cabin door creaked open. JJ stumbled out with a yawn and a matted head of curls, stretching in the sun like a stray cat. "You good?" he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Sutton forced a smile and nodded. "Yeah," she lied. "Just needed some air."

But as she stared at her reflection in the water, her thoughts were racing.

Rafe. Coke. Zach.

What the hell was he doing?

They were supposed to be doing better — he was supposed to be better.

And yet here they were again.

Sutton lit what was left of last night's joint, inhaled deep, and stared out at the water, the smoke curling around her like armor. If Rafe was going to destroy himself, she wasn't sure if she'd go down with him... or set the whole thing on fire herself.

────

The house was one of those sagging bungalows out on the edge of The Cut — half the shutters gone, a tarp for a roof patch, lawn chair on the porch with duct tape holding the armrests together. It smelled like mold, bad decisions, and stale smoke.

Sutton stepped out of Wes's truck and slammed the door harder than she meant to. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her hands fists in her hoodie pockets to keep from shaking. Wes stood behind her, silent, composed, radiating that eerie calm — like a storm cloud waiting to drop.

"You sure you wanna do this?" he asked, voice low.

She nodded once. "Yeah. I'm done letting them play me."

Inside, the place was dim, music buzzing through busted speakers. A cracked TV screen glowed with static in the corner. Someone was passed out on a beanbag. The air was thick with the sharp, sour smell of coke and sweat.

Then she saw them — Rafe and Zach — sitting on the grotty carpet like it was a damn lounge. A dull lightbulb hung overhead, flickering. There were empty baggies on the coffee table. A line still waiting. Rafe was laughing, slouched back with his hoodie halfway off, pupils blown wide, his knuckles twitching. Zach was red-eyed, quiet, staring at the floor like it might offer answers.

The second Rafe looked up and saw her, his whole body jolted. "Sutton?"

Sutton didn't hesitate. She marched straight in and slapped the coke off the table, powder dusting into the air like a snowstorm of failure.

"You're fucking kidding me," she hissed, eyes darting between the two of them. "This? After everything?"

Rafe stood, unsteady, his face tight. "It's not what it looks like—"

"Don't," Sutton snapped. "Don't you dare lie to my face while you're still high off your ass."

Zach stayed seated, saying nothing. His eyes were glassy. Hollow. His grief still raw, bleeding out in ugly ways.

"You dragged my brother into this shit?" she said, voice cracking. "You were supposed to take care of him. He just lost Tyler, Rafe. He doesn't need you helping him disappear too."

Rafe stepped toward her, hands up. "I'm sorry, alright? I wasn't—Sutty, I wasn't thinking—"

"No, you were thinking exactly like you always do," she cut in. "About yourself. Like when you cheated. Like when you ghosted me for three days and showed up reeking of perfume and pills. You don't change, Rafe. You just get better at pretending."

That's when Wes stepped inside.

The entire room shifted. The energy snapped like a wire pulled taut. Rafe's expression darkened, his jaw clenching. Even Zach stiffened a little, recognizing the presence of someone you didn't mess with.

Wes didn't say anything at first. He walked in like he owned the place, slow and deliberate, hands in his pockets. He looked at Rafe like a lion looks at a cage with a broken lock.

"Man," he said finally, shaking his head, "you really thought you could have a girl like her and still be out here snorting blow off some stranger's living room table?"

Rafe didn't answer. He didn't have to. His silence was loud.

Zach was slumped against the arm of the couch, a half-empty bottle tipped over beside him, his chest rising and falling in the deep, uneven rhythm of someone who'd gone too far. The stale haze of coke and smoke clung to the walls, thick in the air like a warning.

Sutton's voice was ice as she cut through the tension: "Wes, wait outside."

Wes paused in the doorway, met Rafe's glare, then gave her a slow nod. "Five minutes." The door clicked shut behind him.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Sutton turned back to Rafe, who was pacing like a caged animal, jaw tight, hands twitching. Zach was slumped on the couch, completely out of it, barely breathing through parted lips.

"What the hell is this?" Sutton asked, voice rising. "You and Zach? At some rando dealer's house? Again? After everything?"

"You brought him?" Rafe snapped, eyes wild. "You needed protection now? From me?"

"I needed someone who gives a damn about telling me the truth," she shot back.

He laughed—sharp, bitter. "That's rich, coming from you. You wanna talk truth? Let's talk about how you left me. Not once. Twice. You disappeared. At that party? You just—gone."

Her breath caught. He wasn't just angry—he was spiraling.

"You don't get it," he said, pacing faster now. "You left and I was... I was drunk, yeah. But I was waiting. I kept thinking you'd come back. And then..."

He stopped moving. His voice dropped. "I don't even know what happened after that. Not really."

Sutton's eyes narrowed, her chest tightening. "Rafe...?"

"I woke up in a stranger's bed. My clothes were off. I was sick. Everything felt wrong. My head was... I don't know." He dragged a shaky hand down his face. "You ever have something happen and you can't remember it, but your body just knows?"

Sutton stood frozen, mouth slightly parted, the room spinning just a little.

"I didn't ask for any of it," Rafe whispered, eyes glossy now. "And I wouldn't even be saying this if I didn't feel like I was already falling apart in front of you."

She moved closer, but he flinched.

"You weren't there," he said, almost like a child. "You said you'd stay. And then you left. And then it happened. Again."

"I didn't know," she whispered, guilt sinking into her bones.

"I know," Rafe muttered, voice cracking again. "And I still fucked up. I hurt you. I did everything wrong after that. But you think I was trying to destroy you? I was trying to destroy myself."

Zach groaned from the couch, barely conscious.

"You brought him," Rafe repeated, voice bitter again. "And some violent-ass dealer who looks at you like you're his next obsession."

Sutton hesitated. "Wes doesn't—"

"He doesn't know you," Rafe snapped. "Not like I do."

There was silence. Heavy. Still.

Sutton's voice came out small, but firm. "This—what we've been doing—it's not love, Rafe. It's chaos. It's bleeding and bandages and pretending we're fine when we're breaking each other."

Rafe looked at her like he didn't know whether to scream or beg.

"I don't want to be something you have to survive," she said quietly. "I want to be something that helps you heal. And right now, I can't be that. Not for you. Not like this."

The door had just shut behind Wes, but Sutton didn't move. Not yet.

Rafe stood in the middle of the room like he didn't know where to go, like his bones were too heavy for his body. He was trembling—barely holding himself together.

Then something broke.

He let out a sound that wasn't quite a cry but wasn't anything else either. A strangled, guttural exhale that cracked through the silence and shattered whatever wall he had left up. His knees buckled.

Sutton caught him before he hit the floor.

He collapsed into her arms, shaking so violently it scared her. His head buried into her shoulder, hands clinging to her like she was the only solid thing left in a world that wouldn't stop spinning. His sobs came hard and fast—ugly, gasping, childlike. Raw.

"I didn't want it," he kept whispering, over and over, barely audible. "I didn't ask for it."

"I know," Sutton whispered, arms around him tight, cradling his head like she could block the memory out. "I know, Rafe."

His tears soaked through her shirt. Her own eyes burned, but she didn't cry. She just held him, grounding him, rocking slightly even though neither of them were conscious of it. Zach was still passed out on the couch, dead to the world—but everything else felt painfully alive.

"I didn't tell anyone," Rafe choked out. "I couldn't. I didn't think it'd matter."

"It matters," she said, gently cupping the back of his neck. "You matter."

Rafe pulled back slightly, his face flushed and blotchy, eyes wide and wet like a little boy. "You hate me. I know you do. I don't blame you."

"I don't hate you," she said, steady now, voice low but fierce. "I hate what happened to you. I hate that you had to carry it alone."

He opened his mouth to speak, but another sob stole the breath from him. He curled into her again, tighter this time, like he was trying to fit himself into the space where he thought he'd still be safe.

Sutton didn't know how long they stayed like that—minutes, maybe hours—but time didn't matter. Not when someone was breaking in your arms. Not when you were the only one there to catch the pieces.

"I'm sorry," Rafe whispered again, softer this time. "For all of it. For everything I did to you. I just didn't know how to survive it."

Sutton brushed her fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before she even realized what she was doing.

"I know," she murmured. "And I don't forgive you for everything. But I'm here now. And I'm not leaving you like this."

He closed his eyes and nodded, clinging tighter.

For now, she stayed.

Even if the storm was far from over.

Rafe's shoulders slowly stopped heaving. His breaths came easier now—steady, if still a little unsteady—against Sutton's shoulder. She let him rest there, one hand threading through his damp hair, the other pressed gently against his back.

After what felt like an age, he pulled back enough to look at her. His eyes were red-rimmed but clearer. He offered a small, shaky smile. "Thank you," he whispered.

Sutton brushed a thumb across his cheek. "You're not alone," she said quietly.

Just then, the front door creaked open. Wes stepped inside, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes scanning the room. He didn't wait for an invitation.

"Time's up," he said to Sutton, nodding toward Rafe. "I told you I'd take care of your brother's debt." He glanced at Zach, still sleeping on the couch, and gave a curt nod. "I'll settle with the dealer. He won't come looking for Zach now."

Rafe sat up straight, tension snapping back into his shoulders. He stared at Wes. "What about me?" His voice was steady but low.

Wes's gaze hardened. "You're on your own."

Sutton stood, stepping between them. "Wes—"

He held up a hand. "I made my promise about Zach. But I don't do rescues." He fixed Rafe with a steady look. "If you've got demons to fight, you fight them yourself."

Rafe's jaw tightened. He glanced at Sutton, then back at Wes. "Fine," he said, voice tight. "I'll manage."

Wes gave him a slow nod, then turned and called over his shoulder, almost wistful, "Don't fuck it up."

And just like that, he was gone—leaving Sutton and Rafe alone in the half-lit room, the weight of his words hanging between them.

Sutton crossed the distance and took Rafe's hand. "Come on, I've covered for you in the past and I'll do it again," she promised, even if Wes wouldn't help.

Rafe closed his fingers around hers, and for the first time in days, they shared something steadier than pain: a quiet resolve to move forward—side by side.

────

The sun was dipping low, casting a golden glow over the surf. Sutton stood knee-deep in the water, her long hair tied up, brows furrowed in determined concentration. The board wobbled beneath her feet as Rafe floated nearby, grinning like an idiot.

"You're overthinking it," he called out, lazily treading water. "It's like riding a bike but on a wet, unstable death trap."

"Wow, thanks," Sutton deadpanned, wobbling again. "Super reassuring."

"Come on, you got it. Just commit."

"I am committing!"

"No, you're hesitating right at the end, just—"

Before he could finish, Sutton made a bold, totally uncoordinated attempt to stand fully upright on the board. For a half-second, she was up—arms out, wind in her face—and then immediately ate shit, slipping and taking Rafe down with her in a loud splash.

They both popped back up, coughing and laughing, hair dripping over their eyes.

"You good?" Rafe asked, spitting saltwater. Sutton was doubled over, laughing so hard she couldn't answer right away.

"That was not graceful," she finally gasped.

He wiped water from his eyes and grinned at her. "Reminded me of when we were kids. You remember that summer - you were, what—ten? Eleven?"

Sutton raised an eyebrow, still catching her breath. "Barely. Why?"

"I was in love with you," he said simply, like he'd just said the sky was blue.

She blinked, startled.

"You had that obnoxious polka-dot swimsuit," he continued, nostalgic. "And you always ate those red popsicles that stained your mouth like you were bleeding. I thought it was the coolest thing in the world."

Sutton laughed. "That swimsuit was hideous."

"I thought you were a menace," he smirked. "You punched JJ in the face for calling you 'princess.' And then you tried to build a raft out of boogie boards and duct tape."

"I stand by that engineering."

Rafe looked at her for a long beat, his smile softening. "You were fearless back then. You still are."

She tilted her head. "You never told me that."

He shrugged. "I figured I had time."

Their eyes met, the moment quiet between them, water lapping softly at their shoulders. The history—the chaos, the pain, the laughter—it all hummed just below the surface.

Then, of course, Sutton shoved a splash of water straight into his face.

"Now you're overthinking it," she teased, already paddling away.

Rafe sputtered, chasing after her with a grin.

"Still a menace," he called.

"Still in cooler than you," she threw back without thinking.

And then she was gone—laughing, paddling, fearless.

Sutton was breathless from laughing, still dripping as she sprawled across her board in the shallows, her chest heaving from that ridiculous wipeout. Rafe floated next to her, hair slicked back, eyes crinkled from smiling. He reached out and brushed a strand of seaweed off her shoulder.

"You always do things with your whole chest," he said, grinning.

Sutton lifted her head, squinting. "You calling me dramatic?"

"I'm saying you commit," he said, tapping her board. "Even if it means eating shit in front of pelicans."

She laughed, loud and unfiltered, and Rafe looked at her for a moment like she was something brand new—like she hadn't broken his heart, like he hadn't broken hers. Just her, now, sun-drenched and salty, the same girl he remembered.

"You know," he said, voice softening, "I used to watch you play mermaids in the pool with Olivia and Sarah."

Sutton tilted her head. "What?"

"When we were kids," Rafe said. "You'd make Olivia be the sea witch every time. Sarah would be the 'glamorous' one, and you'd be the rebel mermaid who didn't listen to the rules."

Sutton burst into a laugh. "Oh my god, I remember that. Olivia would get so pissed."

"I'd sit behind the deck chairs and just... watch," he admitted, a little sheepish. "You were loud. Bossy. Wild."

She blinked at him, surprised.

"I thought you were magic," he added quietly. "Like, untouchable. You had this way of making everything feel like a movie."

Her smile faltered into something softer. "I didn't know you noticed."

"I always noticed," he said.

For a beat, there was just the water lapping against their boards, the gold of late sun on the waves, the feeling of something old between them settling into something new.

Sutton slid off her board and swam closer to his, her hand brushing his. He caught it without hesitation, fingers weaving through hers underwater. Their faces were inches apart now, breath syncing, eyes locked like the world had gone still just for them.

And then—

"Yo!"

Both of them flinched as Carl's voice rang out from the dock like a crack of thunder.

"You guys might wanna towel off. We've got visitors."

Rafe groaned under his breath. Sutton rolled her eyes and thudded her forehead gently against his.

"Of course we do," she muttered.

He grinned anyway. "To be continued?"

She squeezed his hand. "Always."

They turned toward shore, the moment cut short, but still lingering—like a favourite song paused halfway through.

Back at the house, Sutton and Rafe stepped onto the wraparound porch, still damp and laughing softly, their towels trailing behind them like half-forgotten flags. The sunset glinted off the salt on their skin, but the warmth faded quickly when Sutton's gaze locked onto the dinner table just inside the open French doors.

Rose and Ward Cameron.

Sitting at the head of the long table like royalty called in for a royal inquisition.

And next to them, awkwardly perched in a wicker chair with a beer in hand and sunglasses still on despite the dying light—Carl. Sutton's father. His girlfriend Rachel, in a floral romper and chunky sandals, stood beside him with a tight-lipped smile like she had no idea where to look.

Sutton stopped dead in her tracks. "You've got to be kidding me."

Rafe froze beside her. His jaw clenched at the sight of his parents, posture tightening like a wire pulled taut. "What the hell are they doing here?"

Before Sutton could answer, Carl stood, arms lifted like he was hosting a barbecue, not a powder keg. "Hey, hey, let's not start with the drama, alright? We're all just sitting down, having a civil conversation."

"No, you invited them?" Sutton snapped, glaring at him.

Rachel raised her hands, all saccharine sweetness. "We thought it'd be helpful. Some... family closure, you know? Rafe's parents were just concerned. We figured—better to talk it out than keep letting it boil."

"Jesus Christ," Rafe muttered under his breath.

Ward stood then, that false composure radiating off him like heat from a car hood. "We came here because we heard about the stunt with Zach. About the fact you've gone off-grid, again."

"I was taking care of it," Rafe bit back. "Unlike you, I don't sweep shit under the rug."

"Oh, here we go," Rose said, arms crossing. "This again. The poor victim act. Rafe, you're an adult now. No one's buying the blame game."

Carl stepped forward, gesturing between them like a traffic cop. "Alright, alright. Everyone take a breath. Look, Rafe's been through a lot. Maybe too much. But this isn't how we fix things."

"Since when do you fix things?" Sutton snapped, arms folded tightly. "You think playing peacemaker now makes up for everything?"

Carl's jaw twitched. "That's not fair, Sutton."

"No," she said. "It's true."

Ward ignored the exchange. His eyes were pinned on his son. "You're coming back with us. We'll deal with this privately. Like we always do."

"No," Rafe said flatly.

Ward took a step forward. "Don't be stupid."

"I said no." His voice was louder now, shaking slightly. "I'm not walking back into that house so you can pretend everything's fine again. So you can act like I'm the screwup you need to hide."

"Rafe—" Rachel tried, her voice high and sugary, but he shot her a look that stopped her cold.

Rose stood now too, lips pressed tight. "You're spiraling. Again. And we're trying to help. That girl—" she gestured at Sutton—"is part of the problem."

"Say it again," Sutton snapped, stepping forward.

But Carl moved between them. "Enough! All of you. This isn't some reality show. This is real life. And Rafe—" he turned to him, voice lowering—"I don't know what happened, but if you need help, we'll find it. Together."

"I'm not going with him," Rafe said, nodding toward Ward. "You don't get to play dad after all this time."

Ward's face darkened, but he didn't argue. Instead, he stepped back, looking at Carl. "Fine. He stays here. But when he crashes again, don't come running."

He turned to go. Rose followed, brushing past Sutton like she wasn't even there.

Rachel gave Sutton a half-hearted pat on the arm and whispered, "Yikes," before trailing after Carl, who stayed frozen a moment longer, conflicted.

The screen door banged shut behind them, leaving silence in their wake.

Rafe exhaled hard, running a hand through his damp hair, eyes flicking to Sutton. "Well. That went great."

Sutton just blinked at him, like she was still trying to process the emotional whiplash.

"I need a drink," she muttered.

"I need a new family," Rafe said.

They looked at each other, and despite everything—the mess, the shouting, the ghosts—they cracked the faintest, tired smiles.

────

Later that evening, the tension in the house had settled into something quieter. The kind of stillness that came not from peace, but from exhaustion. Outside, the sun had dipped low, casting a golden blur over the porch and dappling through the trees. The cicadas had started up, and the smell of sea salt and charcoal wafted in through the open windows.

Carl stood at the kitchen island, cracking open a beer with a practiced flick of his wrist. Rachel was by the stove, absentmindedly stirring a pot of reheated mac and cheese while humming along to an old Otis Redding song playing low on the speaker.

Zach was sprawled dramatically on the couch, a heating pad on his back, an exaggerated scowl on his face as if recovering from a war wound. Across from him, Max — a young, blur of chaos — pounced up and down like a pogo stick, trying to grab the edge of the blanket Zach had cocooned himself in.

"Can someone get this gremlin away from me?" Zach groaned. "I think he wants to eat me."

"He just wants to play," Sutton said from the armrest, trying not to laugh as she tossed Max one of the plush toys scattered on the floor.

Max immediately pounced on it like a wild animal, tail wagging in overdrive, then promptly leapt up again and landed squarely on Zach's stomach.

"Jesus Christ!" Zach wheezed. "This dog is a menace."

"He's a baby," Rachel said sweetly, glancing over her shoulder. "Full of love and absolutely no sense of boundaries."

"That's not a baby," Zach muttered. "That's a brown furred caffeine overdose."

Rafe was leaning against the back door frame, his still-damp shirt clinging to him, hair a tousled mess from their time in the water. He didn't say much, just watched Sutton, a faint smile pulling at his lips when she knelt to wrestle Max off Zach and redirect him with a ball.

"You two looked good out there," Carl said casually, sipping his beer. "Surfing together like old times."

"Except I got launched off the board and took him with me," Sutton grumbled.

"It was graceful," Rafe deadpanned. "Like a flamingo caught in a riptide."

Zach gave a slow, painful clap from the couch. "Iconic."

Max barked in agreement, trying to wedge the ball between Sutton's knees now that he had lost interest in the plush toy.

There was a pause — the kind that only happens when no one knows what comes next. Rachel set the spoon down, and Carl looked over at his daughter and Rafe, gauging the distance between them.

"You okay, kid?" Carl asked Sutton gently.

She nodded, brushing hair out of her face. "Yeah. I'm good."

Rafe walked closer then, scratching behind Max's ears. "You still pretend to be a mermaid? You used to do that," he said, voice quiet now. "Back when we were little. You and Olivia and Sarah. You'd play in the tide pools and make up names—'Princess Coral' or something ridiculous."

"Princess Oceania," Sutton corrected automatically, lips twitching with reluctant amusement.

Rafe smiled. "Right. You always said if anyone messed with your sisters, you'd call the sea to come drown them."

Sutton laughed under her breath. "That sounds about right."

"I kept waiting for you to send a tidal wave after me," he added, still looking at her, only her. "But you never did."

The room dimmed around them, like the rest of the world had taken a step back. Max whined and pressed his wet nose against Sutton's hand, tail still thumping in chaotic, off-beat rhythm.

She glanced up at Rafe. "Maybe the sea knew you weren't the real danger."

He smiled then — really smiled — like something was healing.

And even though things weren't perfect, for a moment, with Max curled beside them, Zach grumbling under his blanket, Carl and Rachel quietly talking in the kitchen... it almost felt like a family again.

Just almost.

The quiet moment between Rafe and Sutton lingered, the atmosphere warm despite the underlying tension that still clung to the edges. The soft sound of Max's panting filled the air, his tiny body still wriggling with excitement. Zach let out an exaggerated sigh from the couch, pushing Max off of him for what felt like the hundredth time.

"You sure you're okay, kid?" Carl asked again, his voice quieter now as he set the beer down. The question hung in the air, heavy, loaded with unspoken meaning.

Sutton shifted, her fingers gently ruffling Max's fur, avoiding her father's eyes for a beat. "Yeah... just thinking." Her voice was soft, a little distant. "I keep thinking about Eli."

The words seemed to echo through the room in an almost painful way. Rachel's gaze softened, and Carl's face fell, the lines around his eyes deepening as the weight of their recent loss seemed to settle over them all once again.

Max, oblivious to the shift in mood, plopped down beside Sutton, resting his head on her lap as if sensing the change.

"I was thinking about him too," Rafe said quietly, the lightness from before gone, replaced with a quiet, somber tone. He stood off to the side, arms crossed, as if grounding himself in the moment. "I keep seeing him—how he'd jump in the pool without thinking, like he was invincible." His voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat, trying to mask the emotion that was creeping in.

Sutton looked up at him, her heart aching for him, for all of them. "He had that way about him, didn't he? Like nothing could stop him."

"Yeah," Rafe murmured, his gaze far away. "Like he didn't have a single fear in the world. Just fearless, full of life... until it was all gone."

Carl let out a slow exhale, the heaviness of the loss settling over him. "He was my boy, you know? I don't even know how to talk about him sometimes without feeling like I can't breathe."

Sutton's throat tightened, the grief thick and swallowing. "It's just not right, you know? He should be here, messing up our plans, stealing our snacks." She swallowed hard, her eyes threatening to spill over. "It feels like I'm supposed to be protecting him, and I failed."

"No one could have protected him," Carl said, his voice rough. "Sometimes the world just doesn't make sense."

"I know it doesn't," Sutton whispered, blinking rapidly to keep her composure. "But... we have to keep going, right? For him? Like, he wouldn't want us to just fall apart."

Rafe's gaze lingered on her for a beat before he nodded, looking at the floor. "Yeah. He wouldn't."

The room fell silent for a moment, the only sound the occasional low whine from Max, still curled up next to Sutton, trying to offer comfort in the only way he knew how. Sutton took a deep breath, wiping her eyes quickly before anyone could notice the tears.

"Do you remember that time Eli was so determined to learn how to surf?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly but steady. "We couldn't even keep him off the board for more than a minute. He thought he was some sort of prodigy."

Rafe's lips twitched upward in a ghost of a smile. "Yeah. And he kept bragging about how he was gonna 'beat me' next time. Wouldn't shut up about it. Guess we'll never get to see it."

The smile faded, but Sutton felt a warmth spread through her chest as the memory lingered in the air. Eli's laughter, his bright energy, it felt so close, like they could almost reach out and touch it.

"Maybe... maybe one day we'll teach Max how to surf," Sutton murmured, trying to shift the moment back to something lighter. Max immediately perked up at the mention of his name, his tail wagging faster, almost as if he understood.

Rafe chuckled quietly, his eyes soft. "Yeah. Maybe. Wouldn't be the worst idea." His voice grew quieter, his tone almost reverent. "I think Eli would've liked that. He'd be the first one to say Max was better than all of us."

Carl's eyes softened, and Rachel placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We'll get through it," Rachel said quietly, her voice calm but firm. "One step at a time."

"Yeah," Sutton said, nodding slowly, taking a deep breath as she wiped away the last of her tears. "One step at a time."

For a moment, there was a sense of unity in the room. Even with the loss, even with the pain, there was a fragile thread of hope that seemed to tie them all together. The grief would never fully go away — that much was certain. But as they sat there, surrounded by family and the comforting presence of Max, it felt like maybe, just maybe, they could find a way forward.

—

Sutton was curled up on the porch swing, her hair still damp from the ocean, a blanket draped over her legs. Max, their young golden retriever, snored quietly at her feet. The fire pit in the middle of the porch crackled lazily, casting a soft, golden light over everyone — Carl and Rachel sharing a bottle of wine, Zach half-dozing in a rocking chair, and Rafe brooding beside Sutton, absently tossing a tennis ball up and down.

The peaceful lull was broken by the sound of a truck rumbling up the gravel drive.

Heads turned as JJ and Kiara hopped out, looking suspiciously energized.

JJ jogged up first, smirking. "We need Sutton," he announced like it was a matter of national security.

Kiara grinned beside him. "Secret mission," she added, winking.

Sutton lifted a brow, intrigued but suspicious. "Secret mission?"

"Top secret," JJ said dramatically. "Life or death."

Rafe immediately stiffened beside her, shooting them both a look that could curdle milk. "She's not going anywhere," he grumbled under his breath.

Carl laughed, tipping his beer bottle toward Sutton. "Go on, get lost," he said, grinning. "Before he chains you to the damn porch."

Sutton laughed too, bumping her shoulder against Rafe. "I'll be fine."

"You better be," Rafe muttered, refusing to look at her as she stood up and stretched.

Max jumped up too, tail wagging excitedly like he wanted in on the "mission."

"I'll bring her back in one piece," Kiara promised over her shoulder as Sutton followed them toward the truck, pulling on an old hoodie.

Rafe watched her go, jaw tight, as the truck pulled away into the night.

"You could always go after her," Rachel teased lightly, nudging Rafe with her foot.

He only scowled harder, staring into the fire like it had personally offended him.

Carl chuckled. "Damn kid's in deep."

The inside of JJ's beat-up van smelled like salt air, old leather, and whatever fast food he'd eaten last. Sutton climbed into the passenger seat, pulling her hoodie tighter around herself as Max — the young German Shepherd — leapt up into the back with Kiara, his paws scrambling for traction on the worn seats.

JJ grinned as he threw the van into gear and peeled out of the driveway, gravel spitting from the tires. "God, it feels like old times," he said, drumming his hands on the steering wheel to some beat only he could hear.

"Yeah, if old times included a German Shepherd on a covert op," Sutton teased, glancing back at Max, who was panting happily, ears perked, clearly thrilled to be included.

"He's part of the mission now," Kiara said, scratching Max behind the ears. "We need all paws on deck."

Sutton laughed. "Are you guys actually going to tell me what this 'mission' is, or...?"

JJ wiggled his brows mischievously. "That would ruin the mystery, Sutton."

Kiara leaned forward between the seats. "Okay, fine. It's not exactly life or death, but it's important. We found something — well, Pope found it, but he bailed because of finals — and we need you."

Sutton narrowed her eyes. "Found what?"

JJ grinned wider. "You'll see. Just trust us."

"You realize that's exactly what people say before they lure you into a horror movie scenario, right?"

Kiara snorted. "If anyone should be worried, it's JJ. You're the scary one."

"True," JJ agreed, flashing her a lopsided smile. "Remember when you broke Topper's nose in eighth grade? Legendary."

Sutton smirked. "He deserved it."

The van bumped along the back roads, the dark trees pressing close on either side. It was the kind of night that smelled like rain and pine, the windows down and music low, everything feeling a little suspended — like the world was holding its breath.

For a moment, Sutton closed her eyes and let herself feel it: freedom, however temporary.

"You okay?" Kiara asked softly, seeing something flicker across Sutton's face.

Sutton opened her eyes, offering a small smile. "Yeah. Just... nice to get out of my own head for a minute."

JJ gave a dramatic salute. "That's what we're here for, Captain."

As they turned down an even narrower road, Max nosed Sutton's elbow, whining softly like he could sense her unease. She gave him a quick scratch behind his ear, grateful for the simple comfort.

She couldn't help but glance out the window, wondering what exactly she'd just signed herself up for.

And somewhere deep down, despite herself, she already knew — if it meant getting a few hours away from the wreckage at home, from Rafe's heavy stare, from the ache of missing Eli — she'd follow these two anywhere.

Even into the unknown.

The van rattled and groaned as JJ turned onto a dirt driveway, the headlights sweeping across the rundown beach shack where John B and Pope were supposed to be waiting.

"They're taking their sweet time," JJ muttered, tapping the steering wheel impatiently.

Sutton leaned over, spotting their two friends lingering near the porch, loading something into an old cooler. "You know," she said slyly, glancing back at Max, "we could make this more interesting."

JJ's eyes lit up immediately. "I like where this is going."

Kiara caught on fast. "Max. Driving the van. Legendary."

Sutton grinned, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Okay, okay — JJ, scoot out for a second."

JJ laughed as he scrambled over into Kiara's seat, and Sutton gently tugged Max into the driver's seat. The young German Shepherd wagged his tail furiously, his big paws sliding all over the steering wheel and dashboard. Sutton helped steady him, balancing him so he looked like he was casually waiting behind the wheel.

From a distance, with the headlights still on, it really did look like a very impatient dog was behind the wheel.

"Perfect," Kiara whispered between giggles.

Sutton cracked open her window and gave a sharp whistle. "Hey! You guys gonna stand there all night?" she called to John B and Pope.

The boys turned — and immediately froze.

Even from where they sat, they could see Pope's mouth fall open. John B squinted into the headlights like he couldn't quite trust what he was seeing.

"Is... is Max driving the van?" Pope said loudly.

JJ slapped a hand over his mouth to stop from laughing. Kiara was already doubled over against the dashboard, snorting.

Sutton, fighting back a grin, leaned out the window. "We taught him stick shift last week!" she shouted.

At that moment, Max, eager and confused, put his paw down squarely on the horn.

HOOOOOOOONK!

The noise was deafening, blasting across the empty beach.

Pope and John B jumped about a foot in the air. John B yelled, "What the hell?!" and nearly dropped the cooler.

Sutton lost it, full-on laughing, clutching the dashboard to keep from falling out of her seat.

JJ wiped a fake tear from his eye. "That's my boy, Max! Aggressive parking etiquette!"

Still laughing, Kiara managed to gasp out, "Get in, losers! We're going treasure hunting!"

John B shook his head in disbelief but jogged over, hauling the cooler behind him. "Only you idiots would train a German Shepherd to honk at us," he muttered as he climbed into the van.

Pope slid in after him, still staring at Max. "This dog's smarter than JJ, no offense."

"None taken," JJ said breezily, reaching out to scratch Max behind the ears. "We're all a little jealous of him."

Max gave a satisfied woof like he knew exactly what he'd done — and he was proud of it.

As JJ pulled the van back onto the road, the whole van still buzzing with laughter, Sutton leaned her head back against the seat, a real, genuine smile curling on her lips.

As the van rumbled down the road, still full of laughter and the occasional bark from Max, Sutton's phone buzzed in her lap.

She glanced down and saw a text from her dad.

Carl:

Where's Max? Didn't see him around the fire. Please tell me you didn't leave him tied to the porch again.

Sutton bit her lip to stifle a laugh. "Oh my god," she said, holding up the phone. "Carl's looking for Max."

JJ immediately snatched the phone from her hands. "Say less."

Kiara was already flipping her front camera open. "Everyone crowd in!"

Pope leaned across John B, and Sutton ducked in close too, Max squirming excitedly between them. Kiara snapped a selfie — Max front and center, tongue lolling happily, all five of them grinning like idiots around him.

The picture was chaotic: Max had one ear sticking straight up, JJ was throwing a peace sign, John B looked like he was mid-laugh, and Pope had somehow gotten a piece of his hoodie caught on Max's collar.

"Perfect," JJ declared, typing furiously.

JJ (on Sutton's phone):

Don't worry, he's the designated driver.

He hit send before Sutton could protest.

Almost instantly, Carl replied.

Carl:

You people are a menace. Bring my damn dog back alive.

Sutton laughed so hard she nearly dropped the phone. Max barked once, like he was offended at the suggestion he wouldn't make it.

John B ruffled the dog's fur affectionately. "Relax, Carl. He's in the safest hands possible."

"Yeah," JJ added with a mischievous glint in his eye, "he's basically one of us now. A certified Pogue."

Kiara smiled, reaching over to rub Max's head. "He might be the smartest Pogue, honestly."

Sutton tucked the phone back into her hoodie pocket, heart feeling a little lighter. Out here, with the windows down, Max wagging his tail between the seats, and the road unwinding in front of them, it felt good to forget everything heavy for a little while.

Even Rafe's grumpiness, even the ghosts of Eli and everything they'd left behind — it was quieter right now.

Just them. Just tonight.

And Max, their honorary getaway driver.

As the van bumped along, Sutton's phone buzzed again.

It was another message from Carl — but this time, it wasn't just text. It was a selfie.

Sutton opened it and immediately burst out laughing.

Carl and Rachel had taken a selfie together, both grinning like absolute goofballs in front of the firepit. In the background, just barely in frame, Rafe stood with his arms crossed, scowling at the camera like he wanted to burn the entire world down.

Kiara leaned over Sutton's shoulder and snorted. "He looks like he's about to commit a felony."

JJ howled with laughter. "Dude's seething."

Pope shook his head. "That man needs therapy. Like, deep therapy."

Feeling playful, Sutton glanced around the van. The closest person to her was — of course — John B, crammed up next to her because Pope and JJ had hogged the back row.

Without thinking too hard, Sutton lifted her phone and snapped a quick selfie: her grinning, John B flashing a lazy smile with an arm thrown casually behind her seat, like old times.

Kiara, catching the movement, leaned in last second, throwing up a peace sign.

They looked... happy. Carefree.

Sutton sent it straight to Carl with a simple caption:

Don't worry, I found better company.

Not even thirty seconds later, Carl fired back — another photo.

This time, it was just Rafe. Up close.
Full-on glowering at the camera, looking one second away from hunting them down himself.

Carl's caption:

You're gonna need a bodyguard when you get home. Hope Max knows how to bite.

The van erupted into laughter again, Max barking wildly like he understood the chaos he was part of.

Sutton leaned her head back against the seat, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt.

Even with all the complicated memories tied to John B, even with everything heavy still waiting back home, this — the laughter, the friendship, the ridiculousness — was something she needed more than she realized.

"Secret mission's already worth it," JJ said, nudging her with his elbow.

Sutton grinned. "And we haven't even gotten to the good part yet."